


Fighting Uphill

by romanticalgirl



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-03
Updated: 2007-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Resident demon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Uphill

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for beta duty. Happy birthday to [](http://sasha-b.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sasha-b.livejournal.com/)**sasha_b**. And, as previously mentioned, I have a thing about Dag calling Lancelot "little one". I know this. But still.

“Don’t say a word!” Dagonet’s voice echoes around the silent garrison as he stumbles inside, the rough-hewn wooden door swinging shut behind him and slamming loudly into its stone resting place. He comes s a few steps forward, staggering against the table and toppling the empty pitcher, sending the fired clay to its end scattered in shards on the floor. Without a word, Dagonet grabs the side of the table, upending it and sending its few contents to the floor.

“I’d ask what’s gotten into you, but I think I can safely guess the answer is more wine than was wise.”

“You!” Dagonet points at Lancelot, his finger steady despite his drunken steps. “You are the reason we are stuck here in this place, knee deep in mud and muck and fucking _rain_.”

“What did I do this time?”

“Annoyed the Romans _again_ and started a fight _again_ and now we’re being punished, stuck here instead of where we belong.”

“I’m certain that, as much as it is easy to blame me for the first two, it’s not my fault in the slightest we’re stuck in this country, in this weather. That blame lays firmly on the shoulders of our ancestors and, not to put too fine a point on it, the Romans that indentured them.”

“You.” Dagonet growls as he moves forward, shuffling carefully along the uneven ground as he nears Lancelot. “You and that mouth of yours.”

“Says the man who uses his only slightly more often than Tristan.” Lancelot sighs and stands, setting aside the oil and cloth he’d been using on his dagger.. “Come to bed, Dagonet. Drink off your wine and tomorrow you can bemoan the weather with a proper pain in your head.”

Dagonet bats Lancelot’s hand away roughly before grabbing his wrist and wrenching it behind Lancelot’s back. He shoves him face-first against the wall and pins him there with the weight of his body. “So clever, aren’t you?”

“Get off me, Dagonet.” Lancelot’s voice is still calm, still measured as Dagonet leans against him, tugging Lancelot’s arm higher, putting pressure on his shoulder. Lancelot hisses out air, careful not to cause himself injury with his own movement. “Dagonet.”

“I think you like this place, you know that? Your cozy bed and your dead Woads. You moan about home, but you like it here. Like being the resident demon to all the stupid Romans.”

“Get. Off.” Lancelot shifts, his voice clipped and sharp. “Now.”

“You think I’m scared of you, Lancelot?” Dagonet’s breath is hot against Lancelot’s ear, stirring the dark curls as he exhales. “You think you frighten me?”

“I will not ask again.” Lancelot swallows hard and remains still despite his words. Dagonet laughs softly, the sound sending a shudder through the smaller man, the slight movement giving Dagonet advantage to move his mouth to the curve of Lancelot’s neck, to the warm flesh that his shift has bared. “Dagonet.”

“Here, Lancelot? Here and now and against the wall?” Dagonet’s free hand skirts along Lancelot’s side, sliding under his loose tunic. “Is what you want, isn’t it?” His words are still slurred, hushed and hot against Lancelot’s skin, tongue and lips and teeth playing over the pliant flesh. “What you beg for.”

“I don’t beg.”

Dagonet growls, the sound wine-thick and throaty. “Could make you.”

Lancelot’s back arches at the words, his shoulders digging into Dagonet’s chest. Dagonet laughs and finally releases Lancelot’s wrist, though the closeness of their bodies still prohibits him from moving. Dagonet’s hand slides down to Lancelot’s hip, curving around to find the hard flesh of his arousal.

“Make you beg me, beg _for_ me.”

“Dagonet.” Lancelot’s voice is rough as well, breathed through parted lips and burgeoning need.

“Is that what you want, little one? What you always ask for, eh?” Dagonet’s teeth sink into the meaty flesh of Lancelot’s earlobe, sucking on it to alleviate the sting. “Harder, Dagonet. Deeper. Fuck me. Should I give you what you want, little one? See if you are man enough yet to take it all?”

“Gods, Dagonet.” Lancelot leans back against him, the hand caught between them sliding down to graze over the hard flesh beneath Dagonet’s leathers.

“Tired of fighting uphill.” Dagonet pulls back and jerks Lancelot’s shoulder, turning him around and shoving him back against the wall. “You want even ground, Lancelot? I’ll give it to you.”

Dagonet’s hands make short work of Lancelot’s loose trousers, the cotton worn and faded from years of wear. He tugs them down before wrenching Lancelot’s tunic off and then pushing him hard against the wall.

Lancelot doesn’t make a noise as the stone wall scrapes at his bare skin, or when Dagonet leans in, his teeth sharp on Lancelot’s mouth, drawing blood as he bites. Dagonet’s hands are busy, feeling Lancelot’s skin, smoother where the scars mar his flesh, stretched taut over muscle and sinew as he slides his fingers over Lancelot’s stomach and down to the jutting hardness of his cock.

Lancelot groans, his hips rocking forward as Dagonet’s hand closes around him, jerking hard at his flesh. “Like that, little one?”

“Stop…stop calling me that.” Lancelot bites his lower lip, trying to keep his eyes open as Dagonet’s hand continues moving, stroking hard and tight around him. “Not a child.”

“May as well be,” Dagonet growls. “Impetuous, impulsive. Tight and hot.” His free hand unfastens his own leathers, tugging at the laces with the same ferocity he uses to stroke Lancelot’s cock, forcing low gasps past Lancelot’s lips. “You want me to fuck you, Lancelot?”

“Yes.” He groans the word, hips rising and falling in time with Dagonet’s strokes. “Yes.”

Dagonet releases Lancelot, ignoring his desperate moan. Dagonet shoves his leathers down his thighs then reaches for Lancelot, lifting him and pinning him to the wall. “Not begging yet, little one.” He gropes for the oil Lancelot had discarded earlier, one arm across Lancelot’s chest as Dagonet pours it on his cock, both of them watching the golden color spread along Dagonet’s thick shaft. Lancelot’s breath hitches as Dagonet flings the oil aside, the bottle of it breaking as easily as the wine flagon had, catching Lancelot again with both hands and guiding him down onto Dagonet’s flesh.

“Oh.” Lancelot’s body tenses and tightens around Dagonet as he wraps his legs around him, heels digging into the hard muscle of Dagonet’s buttocks. “Oh, fuck.”

Dagonet growls and forces himself deeper, his hands sliding around Lancelot’s lower back to pull him closer. Lancelot shudders hard around him, his nails digging into Dagonet’s shoulders as his head falls back and his body flexes, shifting around Dagonet as he thrusts.

Dagonet grips Lancelot tighter and adjusts his stance, leaning into Lancelot as he begins thrusting in earnest, every stroke hard and deep, pulling back nearly to the point of leaving Lancelot’s flesh before pushing in again. Lancelot’s breaths are timed, gasping out of him as Dagonet pushes in.

Sliding his hand up Lancelot’s back, Dagonet can feel the warm hint of blood as the rough stone behind him scratches at Lancelot’s skin, digging into his flesh as Dagonet thrusts harder still. “Beg.”

“Fuck. No. No. Fuck.” Lancelot pants, the grip of his legs growing tighter, digging into Dagonet’s hips as Lancelot thrusts down against him. “Didn’t…didn’t do anything.”

“Beg.” Dagonet finds Lancelot’s neck, his hand sliding up to the back of it and bringing Lancelot’s head down to his, kissing the red, swollen lips. “Beg me.”

“Fuck. Fuck, D…Dag. Oh, fuck.” Lancelot groans, whimpering roughly as he slides his hand between them, wrapping it around his own cock. “Fuck. Fuck…fuck me. P-please.”

Dagonet groans, stumbling backwards with Lancelot still in his grip. He finds the bed and sinks down on it, leaning back as Lancelot begins moving over him of his own accord, knees now buried against the thin mattress and digging into Dagonet’s hips, his body as taut as a bowstring, arched in a perfect curve as Dagonet finds Lancelot’s shaft, wrapping his own hand around the Lancelot’s and stroking him again.

Lancelot shudders again, a thick keening breath filling the musky air between them. Dagonet groans as Lancelot comes, hot liquid splattering against his stomach as Lancelot tightens improbably around him, wringing Dagonet’s own climax from his flesh.

Lancelot lays against him for a long moment, his breath catching and failing and then starting again. They continue like that for another moment longer and then finally Lancelot sighs. “What exactly…” He pauses, exhaling shakily. “What exactly did I do?”

Dagonet closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Don’t remember.” He opens one eye and looks at Lancelot suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because.” Lancelot leans in and buries his head against Dagonet’s neck, as warm against him as if Dagonet had treated him as usual, been his typical gentle, careful self. “Want to do it again.”  



End file.
